


Imposter Syndrome

by calenlily



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Black Jewels Fusion, Emotional Intimacy, F/M, Loyalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:20:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27301825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calenlily/pseuds/calenlily
Summary: Nineteen years old, and she is the Queen of Ebon Askavi. The new-cut Black Jewel is a heavy weight at Buffy’s neck, and she wonders when it will stop feeling like she’s a child playing dress-up.
Relationships: Angel/Buffy Summers
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15
Collections: Shipoween 2020 - The Halloween Ship Exchange!





	Imposter Syndrome

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tielan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/gifts).



> Buffyverse/Black Jewels fusion is a concept I’ve been intrigued by for a long time, so I was delighted to have your prompts give me an excuse to play around with it. This is only a small, rough glimpse of what such a world might look like, but I hope you enjoy!

It’s been five days since Buffy made her Offering to the Darkness. Three days since she set up her court (though that was mostly formality; she’s relied for years already on those who are now her First Circle). Nineteen years old, and she is the Queen of Ebon Askavi. The new-cut Black Jewel is a heavy weight at her neck, and she wonders when it will stop feeling like she’s a child playing dress-up.

She’s been digging in her garden for several hours, despite the appearance of an afternoon thunderstorm, transplanting herbs and flowers for something concrete and productive to do. Weapons practice is doing the opposite of settling her today, reminding her too much of the fact that the Realms are edging towards war and of all the reasons she’d felt the need to form her court so soon, so she seeks strength instead from a Queen’s connection to the land.

It does a little to soothe her, but not enough. When her Consort comes to seek her out, that helps a little more.

He approaches with a predator’s habitual stealth, and she’s too lost in thought to notice his quiet steps until he is standing beside her. “Angel!”

“Buffy.” He ignores her muddy hands and grass-stained knees to pull her close against him. One hand comes up to caress her face, brushing a streak of dirt from her forehead and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

She sighs into the touch. “What am I doing, Angel?”

“Getting yourself soaked to the skin, it looks like,” he replies. The censure in his voice is no less evident for its gentleness.

She huffs. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“It’s the most relevant issue right now,” he insists. “I’ll be happy to talk philosophy if you’ll come inside.”

She can tell he’s going to be stubborn and snarly about this until she does what he wants, so she lets him bundle her into her rooms and a hot bath, though she grumbles about overprotective males while she’s at it.

“What do you mean, what are you doing?” Angel asks once she is comfortably ensconced in the water.

“I feel like an imposter,” she admits. “What am I thinking, thinking I’m ready to be a ruling Queen? Thinking I can protect all of the everyone who looks to me? I kill my goldfish; who let me have a Realm?”

“People look to you to protect them because you already have been,” he reminds her. “You’re not an imposter; you’re strong and capable – and no one expects you to do it alone. That’s _why_ you have a court; we’re here to advise and serve you.”

“What happens when I fail?” she asks. “It’s getting worse out there. What happens when I’m too late or not enough to make a difference?”

He slides behind her and begins massaging the knots of tension in her shoulders while he considers his answer. Buffy thinks about his hands: powerful warrior’s hands. She’s seen him riding the killing edge, seen all the passionate violence an Ebon-gray-Jeweled Warlord Prince is capable of unleashing, but he’s never touched her with anything other than tenderness.

She knows his spotted history (and there’s a lot of it, for he’s half Dhemlan, and has seen centuries already), knows the reasons for his reputation as the most notorious Warlord Prince since the near-mythic days when the Sadist walked the Realms, has had arguments with Giles and Xander and half the other males in her First Circle over her choice of Consort. But she has no doubt in that choice, and not just because she desires him like no man she’s ever known. She knows in her bones that his strength is turned only towards serving and protecting her. She feels it now, the depth of his love and his loyalty to her.

Angel doesn’t offer platitudes. He understands better than anyone she knows the burden that comes with wearing a dark Jewel, the weight of a duty to defend and protect.

“You’re right,” he finally says. “You can’t save everyone. Sometimes all we can do won’t be enough. But we keep going, keep trying, keep fighting.”

“What’s it all for, then?”

“For the fact that it’s worth fighting for. For the ones you can save, because every life saved is one that wouldn’t be if you didn’t fight for them. Doesn’t that make a difference?”

“It does,” she agrees. Comforted by his words, she lets herself relax back against his chest.

He presses a kiss to the top of her head. “You lead with your heart, and it does you good. But war isn’t on our doorstep just yet. Don’t torment yourself with possibilities.”

Buffy snorts. “So says the Prince of brooding. Ever considered taking your own advice?”

“It’s my job, not yours,” he says, but she can hear the teasing smile in his voice.

She twists around to kiss him, and lets herself forget the weight of the world for a while.


End file.
